


This is How the Trip to IKEA Ends

by compo67



Series: Chicago Verse [31]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, Deepthroating, Domestic, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Series, Psychic Sam, Riding, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sparring, Squabbling, Top Dean, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2159478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breaking in their new bed occurs classic Winchester style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is How the Trip to IKEA Ends

**Author's Note:**

> "Inside Out" by Eve 6. Listen to it while you're reading.

Dean doesn't shave for three days before. It's a request Sam makes.

Delivery goes somewhat smoothly. The mattress is the most difficult piece of the entire operation, but between the two IKEA guys and Sam, they manage. Assembly takes an hour and a half, and when the guys leave, Dean grumbles that they could have done it themselves instead of paying someone else. "It could have been a fun project," he mutters, scratching at his chin. He's only saying that to save face; the so-called fun project would have ended in one of them leaving in a huff and slamming the door after them. All those tiny little screws. No thank you.

Sam leans against the doorway, facing their new bed, hands behind him. Dean is tapping at the bed frame with his cane, supposedly checking the durability of the bed and the workmanship.

They didn't start this way for a few reasons.

After years of spending eight hours a day in the Impala, they needed some space. It was a good idea; no one regrets it. Their time in the bunker wasn't long enough to get a sense of living as opposed to staying. The difference between those two words is critical. Seven years is what it takes for them to feel like they actually, truly live here. This bed has arrived just in time for an important announcement.

Last night, Sam set up the turntable on the nightstand. Dean didn't ask; he just snapped that Sam better not break the needle because he just replaced it two weeks ago. For the millionth time, Sam was reminded that, "needles cost a fucking arm and a leg." The record Sam purchased for it cost a fucking arm and a leg. There aren't many pressings of this album or from this band. But he found one, shelled out cash for it, and he is grateful that the turntable can repeat songs without having to reset it.

Finished with his inspection, Dean looks at Sam expectantly, like a kid asking for ice cream truck money. "So?" He holds his arms out, then motions to the bed. "We gonna test this thing out?"

A smile is suppressed. Sam bites his bottom lip and shrugs. "Invite me in."

They are both dressed in their usual weekend attire--jeans and shirts. But Sam purposefully placed a certain pair of jeans on top of the dresser this morning, hoping Dean wouldn't question it. He didn't. This is a pair of jeans that are fitted instead of hanging loose. They aren't skinny jeans--Dean would cut Sam for buying something like that--but they have a similar effect. Every time Dean bent over to check the bed, the world stopped. Even now, as Dean is facing forward, Sam can't stop looking. He's trying his best to be subtle about it.

Stepping forward, the jeans hug Dean's thighs. A glance is given to the snug curve of Dean's cock underneath denim and black briefs. Sam is going to give himself a nosebleed.

This used to be Dean's room.

So he thinks that he has control right now.

He reaches forward to touch Sam's chest, but Sam blocks it with his elbow. In two seconds, Dean's eyes change from play to fight. There's a dodge to the right and a swing to the left. Sam shoves back, able to push Dean off balance for a split second. He predicts the next move Dean makes--a sweep to Sam's feet with his cane--and counters with a knock to the side of Dean's head. Snorting and huffing, Dean growls, done with being pushed around. Faking right, Sam snakes around him on the left, curling his right arm around Dean's waist. Immediately, Dean tries to elbow Sam in the gut, but that's such a beginner's move, Sam can't help but laugh.

Laughter, however, doesn't help. Dean shoulders him in the jaw and proceeds with the elbow to Sam's ribs. "That hurt!" Sam snaps, struggling to detach himself from Dean, who won't let go of his arm. "Dean! Hey!" In five seconds, Sam is knocked onto the bed, flat on his back, with Dean on top of him. Chest to back, they lay for a second, both of them flailing, Sam trying to get his right arm free of the grip it's in. No one wants to lose. No one is above playing dirty.

"Let go!"

"Fuck you!"

"Don't grab my hair!"

"Then don't pinch my tits!"

"I... You don't have tits!"

"Your face!"

"Dean... Ow!"

Because Dean is a terrible person, he decides to rush Sam by jabbing his elbow three times in the same place on his ribs as before. Sam intercepts the follow-up knock to his chin from Dean's head, and wraps his right leg over Dean's right leg and twists until he hears a satisfying yelp of pain. The tempo changes--the fight picks up and their patterns change. Evasive movements are chased by points of contact. Sam tries not to get his nose broken.

Finally, he closes the gap between them completely, pressing his hips to Dean's ass, and grinding forward, groaning as he feels Dean move underneath him.

Breathless, Dean bucks, pushing his hips up.

Sam leans forward and bites down on the back of Dean's neck, an infamous spot. The hitch in Dean's breath changes their tempo once more. A mark is left; Sam licks it twice, moaning when he grinds on the roundest curve of Dean's ass.

Caught off guard, Sam yips as he's tossed off in one move. He groans at the sudden movement, bracing himself, punching out a breath when Dean straddles him. Pushing all of his weight down on Sam, Dean looks him straight in the eye, no trace of a smile, but his lips are slick and his jeans are tight. The bed creaks when Sam is ground into the mattress. Dean seals their mouths together, forcing them each to breathe out their noses, despite needing more air. Rough hands twist their way into Sam's hair, pulling and tugging in response to the rocking of their hips.

There aren't sheets on the bed yet. Sam rolls them over, legs tangled up, and groans into Dean's shoulder when he feels Dean underneath him again.

Clumsy moves are made for the nightstand. The turntable is switched on and two seconds of popping sound from it before the song starts. Sam places his hands square on Dean's chest, groping and steadying himself as he sits up. He tosses his head back, getting his hair out of his eyes, and looks down.

Annoyed by the song, Dean's lips pout. Sam cranes over him, dips down, and presses their lips together. That's all he does for ten seconds--they don't kiss, they don't move. All they feel is the press of each other from mouth to hip. Dean settles his hands on Sam's ass.

Ten seconds pass. Tempo change.

Sam unzips the magic jeans. He scoots down. The turntable plays at its highest volume. "I would swallow my pride, I would choke on the rinds, but the lack thereof would leave me empty inside. Swallow my doubt, turn it inside out, find nothing but faith in nothing." In two seconds, Sam swallows up Dean, forcing his mouth over Dean's cock completely. With his mouth wet and his cheeks hollowed, Sam follows the rhythm of the drums. Bobbing his head, he gets Dean from half hard to bloated, flushed, and twitching by the mention of origami.

Pushing up against the back of Sam's throat, Dean drives forward. Spit leaks from the sides of Sam's mouth. His eyes water and he chokes loud enough for Dean to hear it, opening his mouth, taking every punishing thrust. "I would swallow my pride, I would choke on the rinds, but the lack thereof would leave me empty inside. I would swallow my doubt, turn it inside out. Find nothing but faith in nothing. Wanna put my tender heart in a blender, watch it spin around to a beautiful oblivion."

The tempo in the middle is all drums and deep throating. Sam shuts his eyes and squeezes the muscles in his throat, his shoulders arching forward. Underneath him, Dean is gasping, wrapping his legs around Sam's head, pulling them closer. Inside him, Dean is heavy and slick, buried in pulsating heat.

"Sam!" Dean's body twists. "Sammy...!"

No. Not yet.

Sam pops off. The song starts again. Coughing, tears mixing in with spit, Sam takes in two deep breaths before his jeans are unzipped by freckled, impatient hands. A slap to his ass is given, followed by a grope, chased with a filthy, sloppy kiss. Their noses press together, their teeth clink, and over and over again, Sam kisses back. His cock is gripped and given a squeeze; Sam pushes the hand away and reaches for his jeans. Their mouths separate for a second. Dean grabs Sam's chin and forces him to accept more, to open his jaw up, to make room for the sweep of tongue and teeth. The scrape of the red tinted stubble burns; it creates friction that distracts Dean from the contents of Sam's back pocket.

Two silk scarves lay over Dean's wrists.

From the nightstand, the turntable never falters. "Rendezvous then I'm through with you."

There was a discussion about whether or not to get a headboard with this bed. They did. Sam ties Dean to it, arms held up, the muscles in his chest outlined by the shirt he's wearing. Dean is still fully dressed; Sam shucks everything, tossing it all out of the way. Leaning forward, Sam wrings a series of kisses from Dean, enjoying the groans Dean is making out of frustration. No touching.

Bumping their cocks together, Sam slicks Dean up with a packet of lube, generous, stroking Dean until his cock glistens, thick and fully erect.

Sam sinks down over Dean's cock without bracing himself on Dean. He holds his arms up, behind his head, and lets out a groan. The song starts for a third time. Keeping his hips pushed out, Sam begins to move, forcing himself down, opening up to the feel and drag of the cock inside him. His chest heaves with the effort of taking Dean in so fast, but he controls his hips and rocks back against the meat of Dean's thighs.

Tempo change.

Sunk down, Sam draws in a sharp breath and opens his eyes. His stomach muscles are fluttering and his ass clenches around and over the breech of Dean's cock.

Dean hasn't stopped looking at him.

But he does start moving, knocking Sam's hips up, bracing his feet on the mattress to pound into Sam. Yipping, Sam scrambles for balance. He settles his hands on Dean's chest, rocking back, pushing his hips down, spreading his legs. "Take it," Dean growls, twisting against the silk, "fuck me, Sam. Fuck me. Fuck. Take it. Hold yourself open, baby."

Leaning forward, Sam shifts his weight. He reaches behind himself and obeys--he spreads his ass and moans into Dean's mouth at the proceeding sound. Dean's balls slap against his ass, heavy and drawing up. The tip of Dean's cock pounds against Sam's prostate. Sam shudders, crying out, and he focuses on the muscles in his ass. He works against Dean, clenching, squeezing, and applying increasing pressure. Stroke after stroke, he revels in the sensation of being fucked, rough and desperate. The silk stretches. The headboard bangs against the wall.

The turntable skips; the nightstand is shaking.

Sam moves down. He stops Dean's thrusts, using his weight, and he wraps his hands over Dean's wrists. Pressure builds. Dean licks into his mouth. Sam looms over him, surrounding him completely, focusing their entire world to the space between them.

Matching the rising tempo, Sam fucks himself on Dean's cock. Their hips pound.

"I alone am the one you don't know, you need take heed, feed your ego. Make me blind when your eyes close. Sink when you get close, tie me to the bedpost. I alone am the one you don't know. You need, you don't know you need me. Make me blind when your eyes close." Slow. Slow. Slow. The drums pick up. Sam grinds down. He sinks down with all of his weight, one, two, three.

Breath hitching, Dean shouts, tossing his head back, pushing his hips up.

The music sounds louder. The headboard slams. "Tie me to the bed post!"

Thrown off rhythm, they lose it.

Dean comes first, fucking into Sam as his cock spurts, the muscles in his arms thick and twitching. Riding, Sam comes two seconds after, his hands on freckled shoulders, his cock bobbing between them. A shot of come stripes Dean's chest; the rest ropes over Dean's middle.

Sam slumps against Dean.

Sticky and sweating, Dean unties his hands from the headboard. He breathes out, sighs, and brushes the hair out of Sam's eyes.

It's going to be like this from now on. There will be no need to go across the hall. Sam can just stay here. In a minute, he'll roll off of Dean and get the usual after sex supplies: a washcloth, two Aleve, and a pillow. But that's in a minute. For now, he rests his head against Dean's chest.

There were doubts about getting a bed from IKEA. They aren't small people. But a California king seems to be fairly durable. The new sheets are blue. Dean chose a quilt to use for the last of the summer--it is also blue.

Sam shuts off the turntable without moving. Dean doesn't say anything about it.

Scratching at Dean's stubble, Sam falls asleep.

They rest.  

**Author's Note:**

> phew! /fans self/
> 
> thank you to Eve 6 for the wonderful song. XD alas! smut! 
> 
> enjoy, i'm late to work. <3


End file.
